I
The Colony won’t let me breathe

It walks rough shod over

My very air

My country is cut open, bleeding

She has no tears to spare
I’m with my Country, with my

Family, my heart Boodjar, moort, koort

In the jaws of a vice
And you are helping them turn

               The screw
We’re screwed
II
I had a dream of walking

On water, down the river to the sea.

Carried on the breath of

The ocean back to where

They have carved deep into my Country
Where
I bleed ink, my skin is

Paper, my family was stamped

Scrawled recorded

I bleed ink
Where
If not for wadjela’s paper we might never have found

               His/Her-story
Where
My skin is paper

               My bones are story
III
The colony won’t let me breathe

I am dying

The colony won’t let me breathe

I am drowning

The colony won’t let me breathe

I fight for breath

The colony won’t let me breathe

I learn to breathe water
I hide amongst the roots of a paper bark
We are as aware of the colony as a fish is of water

Send me a fish hook.

I bite. I bleed.

Let me bleed